


Revealing Mistakes

by MeAndTheBoys



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dominance, Embarrassment, Eventual Smut, M/M, Military Kink, Porn Watching, Shameless Smut, Smut, toplock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-25 05:23:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10757598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeAndTheBoys/pseuds/MeAndTheBoys
Summary: Forgetting to close his browser window, John accidentally allows Sherlock access to information he'd rather keep to himself.





	1. Chapter 1

They had only been flatmates for a few months and, while Sherlock was quite peculiar, the two men were getting along famously. Perhaps it was due to John’s profound love for adventure in combination with his grand laziness that he was so drawn to the detective. Why, who else would provide him with channels for such captivating thrill? Even more possible was the notion that John had no one and nothing else to break him from the mundane pacings of his, seemingly pointless, life. It was fact that he had the clinic; but routine check-ups and minor, often repugnant, illness were terribly boring. In turn, John began to dedicate much of his time to the slow unraveling of the, endlessly infatuating and deeply mysterious, consulting detective. A man who managed to stimulate his curiosity so greatly. Regardless of the reasons for their growing friendship, and despite his initial protests to Mrs. Hudson’s mislabeling, John began to feel an unexpected closeness to the shrouded and remarkably bright Sherlock Holmes.

“John,” Sherlock barked, walking to the sitting-room and peering into the kitchen. “Make me tea as well.” The monotonous order was delivered the moment that John’s presence was confirmed in his periphery.  
Burdensomely, the smaller man placed a hand to his brow and massaged the skin with care. It was rare that he was allowed a moment to relax when Sherlock was about. Even when he was out running errands he found, upon returning home, that the detective would still be bossing him around as if he had never left the flat in the first place.

“Fine.” John sighed and began to put a kettle on.

It was rather pointless to hope for Sherlock to give thanks, as John had easily learned during his time with the detective. While he was queer by nature, there was a sort of rhythm to his behaviour. John was learning this rhythm and, as such, no longer took offense to the man’s immeasurable lack of manners. This shortcoming extended far beyond a simple lack of “please and thank you” and, for John, it meant that nothing of his was safe or private-- even his own personal thoughts were being broadcasted to Sherlock throughout most of their interactions.

John often pondered this notion. Perhaps the man knew about his feelings, he would think with a hint of concern. This morning, though, he was thinking about something far more crude and primal. The previous night had got him deliberating these sensations-- which, inevitably, led to John fantasizing. While he was not the most creative man, John’s imagination when it came to these matters seemed to be endless. The contemplative phase was short and the daydream, not enough. So, John took to his laptop and located a proper video.

“Shit.” John muttered, burning his thumb as he made a horrifying realisation. He stopped what he was doing and quickly darted into the sitting-room. “Sherlock, give me my laptop.” He demanded, trying to hold back his growing nervousness whilst watching the screen flip open.

“Oh, calm down. I have work to do.” Sherlock hummed, not pausing for second to glance up at John.

“This is serious, Sherlock. I'll only be a moment.” John whined, hopelessly, fully aware that the reveal was impending as the detective tapped the keys and hit enter. Exasperated, John gave a final effort to grab the computer from Sherlock but the unusual behaviour only made the detective curious as to the contents of the screen. Suddenly, and with furious volume, a video began to play. The flash of light revealed two men, one clad in military garb and the other in the nude, hands bound behind his back, in what would appear to be a locker room. An order was barked by the clothed man, “On your knees!” and the other soldier quickly obeyed.

“Fuck.” John breathed, covering his rapidly reddening face, as he got up and hurried out of the room.


	2. Follow Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How will Sherlock react to discovering John's interests?

John darted into in the kitchen and put his hands on the counter, bending in towards the sink. He drew in a deep breath and held it a for a moment, hoping to set off some of his building anxiety. Perhaps Sherlock wouldn’t mind the fact that John took interest in men. Things would remain the same as long as his clandestine desires for the other man remained as such. This thought would have been more helpful had it not felt so apparent that Sherlock would, in fact, discover John’s infatuation eventually.

In the other room, Sherlock’s eyes remained fixed on the screen, not yet feeling any distinct urge to stop watching the video. The remarkably graceful way that the bound man obeyed his clothed companion was fairly sensational. It wasn’t as if Sherlock had never viewed pornography before-- a well rounded knowledge of human nature was essential to his work and this included basic insight into human sexuality-- but this film struck him rather differently. All that Sherlock could deliberate upon was whether John fantasised himself being bound or delivering orders.

Promptly, Sherlock mulled over his mental notes pertaining to the doctor. John was a military man who had worked through states immeasurable unrest in order to gain control over his own life. Perhaps, being regimented so strictly would provide a soothing sense of security, one that he may have lost upon exiting his military service job. It was also clear that he enjoyed the thrill of adventure, so being subjected to the unpredictable will of another human would prove to provide the same brand of titillation.

It didn’t take long for the detective to deduce that, all facts considered, his comrade would likely take the most pleasure from acting as the submissive participant. The thought of John in the aforementioned scenario was enough to galvanise Sherlock’s own fantasies, providing him with an unprecedented sense of delight. Though he wasn’t void of all sexual urges, the detective often chose to keep them out of his day to day life. They could pose a vast pool of issues, easily dulling the senses that he had spent years fine tuning. But, perhaps, the experience would be different with John.

In all of their time together, Sherlock had never considered John to have any sexual inclination towards men, especially considering all of the women that he eagerly ushered into the flat. Though, a seemingly absurd taunt, delivered by Mycroft, kept popping into to the detective’s head. While John went on many dates with many women, most of them resulted in failure, and Mycroft mused that it was due to John’s constant, and enthusiastic, description of his adventures with the younger Holmes brother. Even on an apparently enjoyable date, John would leave in a heartbeat if Sherlock summoned him.

Sherlock stood up, assessing his decision and feeling confident that he was correct. Then, he straightened his jacket before pausing the video and walking into the kitchen. John was still hunched over the sink, staring hopelessly into the drain as if it were sucking away at his very existence. A small smile tugged at the corners of the detective's mouth and he approached the worried man, standing tall, about a meter behind John, arms folded behind his back.

“Stand straight, Dr. Watson.” He barked in a deep military fashion.

John instinctively turned to look at Sherlock, brows furrowed with clear annoyance. “Sherlock, this isn’t funny.” He sighed, feeling adequately embarrassed without Sherlock’s insensitive ridicule.

“I didn’t say you could turn around.” The detective reprimanded, his tone dry and commanding. “Now stand straight, at attention.”

Sherlock’s eyes were dark and obviously serious as he stared at the doctor. John nervously swallowed, turning his head back to face the wall and straightening further, bringing his feet together and placing his hands flush to his sides.

“Good. Now, tell me.” He began, still maintaining his distance from the other man. “Is this what you want? This situation here.”

The question was genuine and almost hesitant, he had no interest in pressing forward if his deductions were incorrect. That would hardly prove to be a gratifying interaction. Meanwhile, John’s body was flooded with the buzzing internal joys of an adrenaline rush. 

“Y-yes.” John breathed, closing his eyes.

“Yes, what?” Sherlock questioned, taking a step closer the doctor.

“Yes, sir.” John replied.


	3. Crescendo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's patience is finally rewarded as Sherlock becomes more bold with his actions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this is so slow moving!

“Very good, Doctor,” Sherlock hummed.  
The words rang in his ears like gunshots and John’s body remained tense. Every fibre of his being begged him to turn his head and look at Sherlock and take in what was going on but he resiliently remained facing the wall. The praise was compelling. Even more than that, John wanted to be rewarded-- to see what it was that Sherlock would do if he did follow his orders. So he was still, almost forgetting to breathe as he waited.

And waited.

The tension between them was thick, buzzing and building like a slow crescendo with John lingering anxiously at the edge of his seat, begging for the composition to reach its forte. But Sherlock was a keen musician. His eyes worked up John’s back, spotting the tension and absorbing the way the man shifted. He could practically hear his heart and see the way that John was trying to control his breath, fighting to keep a steady chest. So he drew his bow carefully, preventing any crashing crescendo and, instead, allowing a legato transition between what they were and what they were becoming. 

“John,” Sherlock murmured, mentally setting up the orchestra. “You will stay as you are. Just as you are, don’t move.” 

John’s brows knitted together and his breathing picked up. He hadn’t moved since he realised the nature of what was happening and the reinforcement of the command had his stomach turning. It had him curious and frustrated and, without much effort on Sherlock’s part, incredibly aroused. 

As he extended his arm, hesitant, Sherlock came to the conclusion that he wanted this. It wasn’t simply an experiment or a game, it wasn’t a means to an end. He wanted to touch John. 

So he did.

First, his fingertips met with John’s shirt, taking in the fabric. Then his hand flattened and his palm was resting flush against the space between John’s shoulder blades, feeling the slight tension in the man’s trapezius. He flared out his fingers to really get a feel for the dense musculature, pressing against John’s back as his hand slip upward. The notes became staccato and John, without thinking, managed to make his posture taller. Following Sherlock’s hand, as if being pulled by an invisible string, he became impossibly upright until, as those slender digits reached the collar of his shirt, he was practically arching into the touch. 

When Sherlock’s fingers breached the top of John’s shirt collar, finally making contact with the warm nape, John let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding. It was wavering and audible to Sherlock who smirked at the sound. 

Just like that, John’s body was becoming familiar. With each centimeter his careful hands climbed, tracing the remainder of the trapezius up to the base of John’s skull, Sherlock felt a sense of building confidence. His movements grew more bold. Audacious. Between his fingers, John’s hair slipped and caressed his skin and he abruptly grasped the blond locks, tugging the man’s head back and pulling him close.

This was the forte. The clashing booming noise that John had expected to hear when Sherlock first touched him but the gentle interaction defied expectation. 

Both men drew deep breaths, John gasping in surprise and Sherlock simply breathing in the scent of the man before him. The aftershave and the shampoo. His jaw was pressed tightly against John’s temple, hand still clutching the man’s hair, and he let out a warm exhale. Like they’d rehearsed it a million times before, Sherlock’s unoccupied hand slid around the man’s waist and slunk up his body. This time, he wasn’t taking his time. Sherlock was greedy. His touches explored John’s torso, hungry and desperate and impatient, until he reached the man’s face, angling his head to the side. John lifted his hands from the counter and placed one on Sherlock’s forearm and the other on his wrist and, with beautiful synchronicity, they moved their bodies such that John’s back was against the counter. 

“Jesus, Sherlock,” John breathed, eyes fighting between meeting Sherlock’s predatory gaze and watching the man’s lips. 

Against his leg, Sherlock could feel John’s erection. His own hands had come to rest one around John’s throat, fingers dancing along his jawline, and the other low on his waist. “I don’t think I said you could talk,” he replied, using his knee to leverage the man’s legs apart. 

Reprising the painful moments before contact had been made, no more than a minute earlier despite how fully comfortable they had become with each other’s touch, a tension grew. Their lips close, but not touching. Sherlock smiled and guided the tip of his nose up along John’s cheek until his bottom lip ghosted against the man’s upper lip. John’s mouth twitched. 

“Breathe, John,” Sherlock instructed.


End file.
